


Lose Yourself and Search Forever

by PreseaMoon



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Character Study, Established Relationship, Gen, M/M, Post-Time Skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:21:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21803629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PreseaMoon/pseuds/PreseaMoon
Summary: this was one thing, and then became something else. Might write a second part for that reason, as i did not touch on several things i set out to. It was also going to be lewd, but i am not a sexual content writer by nature.this might count more as Gen, but it is inherently m/m because that is how i will write these two anytime they are togetherbtw my fics don't have summaries because i do not know what they are about. Broadly speaking.
Relationships: Judal | Judar/Ren Hakuryuu
Comments: 5
Kudos: 35





	Lose Yourself and Search Forever

**Author's Note:**

> this was one thing, and then became something else. Might write a second part for that reason, as i did not touch on several things i set out to. It was also going to be lewd, but i am not a sexual content writer by nature.
> 
> this might count more as Gen, but it is inherently m/m because that is how i will write these two anytime they are together
> 
> btw my fics don't have summaries because i do not know what they are about. Broadly speaking.

Judar has always known Hakuryuu. From the earliest memories he can recall to his tumultuous adolescence Hakuryuu is always there. In this way, Hakuryuu has become one of the few constants in his life—and the only one he can with absolute certainty say he harbors zero regrets toward. Across the murky canvas that is his memory Hakuryuu exists as the only bright spot he cares to identify

With confidence he can give little else, Judar knows Hakuryuu and has known him. He knew him when he followed his mother everywhere like a duckling, hiding behind her skirts and shying away from anyone not immediate family. He knew him when he pressed shards of his brothers’ personalities into his skin to act as armor and camouflage. He knew him when he threw himself into training and studies with premeditation but no apparent goal. He knew him when he recognized the impotence in his hate.

It’s never been a deliberate thing, nor necessarily a conscious thing on Judar’s part. More a fact of life, the status quo he never thought to question. 

There’s Hakuryuu, what’s he up to?

That’s all. 

Curiosity.

Hakuryuu was curious, as a prince no one cared about or paid mind to. Forgotten, but only just. On the precipice where intent lost its justification but never its purpose. Hakuryuu was given a cage he’d always know was there, even as it faded to others. He was meant to know, to feel its constriction.

In a way, Hakuryuu was his antithesis. Maybe that’s what unknowingly captivated Judar over months and years without cease.

Judar, a foreigner given high status and beloved more than he for… no reason in particular. Because Gyokuen said. Judar’s cage was one he wasn’t allowed to perceive, because if he could, it wouldn’t have been able to serve its purpose.

The moment he comprehended it was there he wanted out, needed agency with a desperation—an _instinct_ he’d never experienced before. But where do you escape to when the entire world has been crafted into your gilded prison? How do you escape in the first place?

How do you know what’s real when the only freedom you’ve ever known was held in place by chains?

The answer to all of these was Hakuryuu. In his now eternal effort to define himself Hakuryuu is both his beacon and his raft.

From the beginning to Belial, threaded together in such a way one might be tempted to label it fate. 

There’s a romantic ring there that Judar doesn’t dislike. Hard to take seriously, though, or fully appreciate, unless Solomon is as self-destructive as they are. Were.

Could be that it’s fate by default. As an all powerful magi destiny molds itself to his will, because Judar is loved by the rukh against all odds and circumstances. A magi fallen twice as far as anyone is the same as a magi who can’t fathom losing their light. 

Or maybe Solomon—or his rukh, whatever—knew that things would ultimately end up this way, the world intact and Judar with a king whose black rukh is now obscured by white. Going against fate the same as fulfilling it. Their choices meaningless. Solomon as bad as Arba.

What a joke.

Is it maturity that he can’t rouse any hatred or even a hint of indignation in response to that? The most he can do is roll his eyes in annoyance anytime he lingers on the possibility for too long. It’s not as if Solomon stole him as a baby and pretended to love him. No, he just cursed him, doomed an entire village with his so called blessing. 

When Judar found his hometown it wasn’t razed to the ground, but close enough. There were a handful of shacks that were meant to pass as housing. An imperfect reflection of the vision Belial showed him, from the thatched roofs to the arrangement of those shacks to the mountain backdrop. Not on fire, not falling apart, but Judar couldn’t call it an improvement to that illusion. It was and is an unspectacular sight. One small village among many within the vast lands that became part of the Kou Empire.

The remnants of the population weren’t much if any better. Aging families with few grown adults and fewer children. Every one of them wan, overworked, and struggling. Working together to maintain their irrelevant existence in a world that’s left them behind. They look nothing like Judar. Not in any way that groups them together. They have pale skin that’s either sunburned or tanned. Clothes are simple and similar to anything else found in the Empire. The hair is dark, thick, styled in buns he can’t remember ever seeing in Rakushou, styled in braids that make him want to tear at his own.

They praised his hair. Complimenting the magnificence of his braid without any knowledge of what it symbolizes. Then, they asked if he wanted to learn their braiding technique, welcoming him without question. Just like they did when he first showed up saying he was born here.

Not knowing what to do with that, Judar turned his back and they haven’t asked again.

They haven’t held his standoffish attitude against him but part of him wishes they would.

Seeing them, the way they’ve come together to persevere in the face of slaughter, it sends streaks of blinding rage through him.

Twenty years they were here. Twenty-three now. Knowing the truth and keeping it to themselves like self-important secret keepers no one asked for. Never saying a word, dying out, while within reach Judar was kept as a glorified pet.

Arba wasn’t really one for loose threads and this isn’t one. This is one last act of mockery. He feels it in every knowing look the villagers throw his way. In the conscious space they give him that is both fearful and brimming with warm respect. Judar hasn’t said, and neither have they, but his history is known.

For this, for the fresh hole that’s been gouged into his soul, he hates Arba all the more. Cutting off her head was too good and too quick for her.

What’s Judar meant to do with any of this.

Hakuryuu’s here, now, and though he’s pleased, relieved, his presence isn’t accompanied by a sense of enlightenment.

As his king and partner Hakuryuu completes his purpose, but purpose is grander than whatever this is. 

This… This is personal. This is isolated from Hakuryuu like nothing in his life ever has been. Except, instead of belonging to him alone to sort through, it’s splintered between dozens of strangers who think they know him when they can’t even look at him.

On his way home— _home_ because the people of his hometown insisted on finishing a half-built house forgotten on the outskirts for him to live in—he’s stopped no less than four times. The first time is by an old lady who pushes blankets into his arms, rambling about the cold nights and how his friend looks so thin and delicate he’ll need the extra warmth. The second to stop him is a man whose age could line up with his father’s, not that Judar knows how old his parents would be if they were alive. The man expresses earnest gratitude towards him for all the work he’s done—which is nothing, Nerva and his men are doing everything—and gives him a basket of fresh vegetables and rice. This emboldens three others to push food on him, loading up his arms with bread and fruit and dried meat like he’s a servant. A fifth person approaches with a cart for him to load his offerings into, and makes an offer of their own to do the work of dragging it to Judar’s shack. They ask in three different ways before Judar is successful in shooing them away.

The cart is well crafted at least, or Judar thinks it is since the handles are smooth wood in his hands and the wheels turn effortlessly, even across pebbles and uneven ground. That doesn’t mean Judar is any good at navigating it. The weight shifts as he goes, setting him off balance, making turns difficult, and eventually he gets stuck on a crack in the ground until a group of kids come along to free the wheel for him. From there they follow him around like motherless rabid puppies. Then, they take it upon themselves to push the cart the rest of the way when Judar has to take a break to shake out his tired arms.

He tells them to mind their own business and get lost but they ignore him the way any child might when an authority figure tries exerting control. Like that’s all Judar is to them, an adult and an outsider all their elders are interested in. They don’t know that he’s killed, don’t realize he could kill them without any effort.

Judar manages to hold them off from trying to barge into the house, but it doesn’t make much difference when they’re so loud Hakuryuu hears anyway. At least he gets rid of them before he comes out asking questions. 

Everything about this situation is too weird for Judar to explain. He doesn’t know how to verbalize his own reactions either, so he cuts it off every time before those issues can come to the surface. 

With an exaggerated sigh, gesturing to the cart of goods, he says, “Peace offerings.”

Hakuryuu’s gaze on him lasts a second longer than it would normally before focusing on the cart. “I can use these for dinner,” he says, eyeing the vegetables while taking the rice in hand.

Judar’s already scowling at them. Couldn’t have given him half decent vegetables could they.

“This is for you, too,” Judar’s mouth says, and it takes thirty whole seconds for Judar’s brain to realize it. By that time Hakuryuu’s already responded and he’s missed it. He points dumbly at the large, drab blanket.

Hakuryuu reaches out, curling the fabric in his too tan left hand. There’s an unfamiliar scar between the knuckles and another at the side of his wrist. While the color and rukh and the scars are wrong, the hand itself is all Hakuryuu. The fingers slim, strong but calloused subtly, and nails manicured to perfection Kouen could only dream of. 

Hakuryuu hasn’t spoken of it, but Judar doesn’t need him to when the rukh says it all.

“For the cold.”

Hakuryuu glances at him. In their case, the nights haven’t been cold because Judar keeps their room warm with magic. The villagers either don’t realize that or ignore it. They must realize who Hakuryuu is too.

“Some old lady gave it to me. For you.” Hakuryuu’s eyebrows rise at that so Judar adds, “The people here are freaks, Hakuryuu.”

That earns him a smile he can’t help but return. He missed Hakuryuu so much. Falling into familiar patterns is so comforting, like slipping on a cozy robe. They both know there’s still a middle ground to find, though, in the gap of time that promises change. In what their future is meant to be.

But they have all the time in the world for that, so they put it off for another day.

They bring bring the food inside and leave the cart off to the side. None of the villagers are going to steal it and the closest semblance of civilization isn’t close at all, on the other side of a mountain. On the slim chance someone does steal it, whatever. Not like Judar can’t get another somewhere. He didn’t want this one in the first place.

Inside, Hakuryuu’s set the table even though they probably aren’t going to eat for another hour or more. He’s pushed curtains aside to let in as much light as possible and made the bed. For a prince he does well with this sort of thing, fending for himself, living like a peasant, being independent. Would have fared better than Judar and Alibaba combined on the Dark Continent, alien vegetation and creatures barely meriting a challenge. That’s just the type of man his king is. 

“How are things going with Nerva?” Hakuryuu asks as he sorts the vegetables into most and least desirable.

Judar sighs and plops down into a chair. He rests his cheek in his hand thinking about it. Working with Nerva got boring not even a week into their? He doesn’t even know what to call it. Idle havoc wreaking? Honestly, it fell so short of doing the same thing with Hakuryuu that it fails to qualify as mischief even. Boredom quickly evolved into straight tedium, and that’s where they’ve remained until now. For Nerva, wreaking havoc and tending to the fields here might as well be the same thing. 

Judar can’t remember what he assigned them for the upcoming week. Or what it was last week. Or what needs to be done. With Hakuryuu here he’s let his attention fall to more important matters.

“That guy is a lost cause,” Judar says, flinging his palms up as though helpless. “He’s the most useless prince I’ve ever met. Alibaba is competent compared to him.”

Hakuryuu gives a full laugh at that. “You say that, but he does have a metal vessel.”

Judar scoffs. “I have no idea how. Y’know, _I_ didn’t go around handing out metal vessels to people because of status.”

“Remind me, who were your choices for king again?”

“Not the same thing. Have you seen your family? Even Koumei is a ruthless snake lying in wait for the kill.”

Hakuryuu’s smile fades a bit, but pushes whatever’s on his mind away. “Fair point. It’s not as if it’s just that anyway, though. The djinn had to choose him too. That means Nerva has qualities that make him worthy of being a king. That’s how it’s supposed to work, right?”

Judar shrugs. Every one of them is making it up as they go along. “I should drag Shax out to tell him he has shit taste in kings.”

“You’d use up so much magoi just for that?”

“The guy can’t do a full djinn equip, Hakuryuu. It’s been years. Years! How do you get to conquer a dungeon when you don’t have what it takes to master the djinn? It’s disgusting.”

“But you saw something in him, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I saw he had a metal vessel after stupid Sinbad confiscated them all. What the hell even is that, Hakuryuu?”

Hakuryuu sighs and glances where Zagan rests in the corner. “I know.”

Judar’s understanding of… a lot developments that happened during his absence, actually, are vague at best. There are too many overlapping events, too much history, a domino effect spanning years and into different directions. Judar has no hope of keeping any of the details straight so he doesn’t try.

Yunan filled him in when they met, but honestly Judar didn’t really listen to anything except for the parts about Hakuryuu. And once he learned Hakuryuu wasn’t in Rakushou he stopped listening entirely to work out a plan to find him instead. 

Nerva informed him, too, but as a byproduct of his sad attempt at rebellion all the information circled around him.

There are key points that have stuck, though.

The first and hardest thing to miss is that Sinbad has somehow taken over Parthevia, or maybe the world? But in a low key way, which is infuriating and boring but suits him. He thinks Sindria itself is some self-aggrandizing personal resort or something. What a useless endeavor that turned out to be. Should have left Sindria as ashes if this is what he was going to do with it.

The second is that a large variety of magic tools have been produced en masse to the point they’re a common everyday item for the general population. Transportation of all types has become quicker, more efficient, more communicative. Isolated locations like Judar’s home village are becoming a rarity. Or, that’s what the cities would have you believe, since that’s seemingly the end goal of this global connection nobody asked for. Next up, the Dark Continent will be settled before anyone realizes.

It’s strange. Everything is strange now. It’s like Judar was punched into an alternate reality instead of the near future. Judar can’t say he’s very fond of these changes. It’s levelling the playing field in a way that puts everyone but the ones at the top at a disadvantage. And the one at the top is, who, Sinbad and Sinbad alone? Kou definitely isn’t up there. Reim doesn’t seem to be either, and if not the two of them, then who?

It leaves a sour taste in his mouth. 

And frustration that he had to leave his king on his own to manage.

If Judar had been here none of this would have happened.

“What’s wrong?” Hakuryuu asks.

Judar huffs. “What isn’t wrong is a better question.”

This isn’t what he had in mind for destroying the world and creating it anew. From the look of things there isn’t going to be any destruction from the two of them anytime soon and that’s…

Hakuryuu’s made his way over to the table, leaving his preparation half-done. In their time apart he’s grown taller, broader. His face is more handsome than it was before. He’s lost most but not all of his boyishness. The scars on his face mar him less, now, make him look more like a well adjusted adult than a victim. No less pretty for it.

Judar is still bigger than him, though. He thinks he’s bigger anyway. He feels like he is, or maybe that’s the time displacement talking. Was he really riding on a dragon for three years? Maybe it was a few weeks and they just slipped through a crack in dimensions.

Does Judar feel any older? He’s not sure.

Hakuryuu puts his hand—the right hand, the one that’s pale and has reached for his time and time again—on Judar’s forearm, and squeezes slightly. Their rukh gathers at that point of contact, black and white and grey fluttering together with no distinction between them.

They’re together, so the things that are wrong can be surmounted, and they can forge their own way forward.

Just like back then, but the spark isn’t quite the same. Is it even there?

The rukh’s brilliant shine reassures him it is.

When he looks up Hakuryuu is smiling at him, and it’s not quite the same smile as it was in the past. Sadder, happier, not the least bit desperate and Judar thinks he looks better for it. It reaches into his heart like nothing ever has, twisting the rukh into luminescent pink in its wake.

“Judar,” Hakuryuu says, and every time he says his name now it sends a resounding pang through him, like the sound is something he wasn’t meant to hear ever again. The voice isn’t even exactly as he remembers it—pitched half an octave lower if that, steadier, surer, but it’s all Hakuryuu, and Judar doesn’t know if that makes the ache more or less intense. “Let’s have dinner, and then we can take a walk around town seeing what else there is to be done.”

“Okay,” Judar answers like this venture wasn’t his prerogative in the first place, still distracted by all that Hakuryuu, his king, is.

Hakuryuu laughs, turning his back to return to their dinner. With the loss of his hand Judar feels a sting of cold, and finds himself rubbing over that spot as if to summon the warmth back. When that doesn’t work he’s on his feet, following Hakuryuu to the counter. 

His hand automatically closes on the sash around Hakuryuu’s waist. He stands as close as possible, intruding upon space that belongs to them both.

“You’ll have to point out who gave these to you so we can thank them properly.”

Judar bumps against him. “It’s pitiable payment for improving their shitty village,” he says without any bite.

“Uh-huh.”

Judar leans against him, watching his face, looking for his reactions to everything and nothing. Ever since finding him Hakuryuu has gone with the flow. He manages Nerva and his people, he maintains their room, he asks little of where Judar’s been and what he’s been up to. Days pass this way and all he expects of Judar is his continued presence, but Kou is waiting for them. Judar feels it in every silence like a slowly healing wound.

This is where they are but Rakushou is their home.

“Hakuryuu.”

“Yes, Judar?”

“How long do you think we’ll stay here?”

After a quiet moment Hakuryuu shrugs. “However long we want.”


End file.
